


the space between us is crucifixion

by foundation



Series: There Is a Flag, There Is No Wind [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Insecurity, M/M, Miscommunication, perceived infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6370591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundation/pseuds/foundation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stands below Bull and tries not to feel any love, any hope at those words. The distance between them tearing away at them until they both bleed. It is here he realizes that he has armed Bull with a dagger fixed on his heart and whispered, “I trust you.” </p><p>Alia is a fool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the space between us is crucifixion

**Author's Note:**

> Bios for the original characters featured in this work (Alia, Az, and Petyr) are in the notes at the end.

 

 _oh, and i will stand here where you used to be_  
_until the iron in my blood rusts to poison,_  
_until my bones turn to fossils_  
_and warp like Atlas's back_  
_under the weight of prophecies unheeded_  
_under the weight of promises unfulfilled_  
_under the weight of memories unremembered_  
\- all the clairvoyance in the world can't save me from you [(j.p.)](pencap.tumblr.com)

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s a beautiful day.” Alia murmurs into Bull’s chest. His lips leaving burning trails as he talks. Humidity wraps around both of their bodies, a warm weight shackling them to the bed. 

 

“Yeah,” Bull whispers, his eyes closed. Numbly, he traces his fingers down Alia’s spine. Every bump every scar every dip paint a blind picture in Bull’s mind. Warm brown skin stretched endlessly through his mind, freckles paint every inch. The green of Alia’s eyes, always more striking and impossible every time he sees them. 

 

Alia strokes his thumb back and forth on Bull’s chest, tracing his tattoos. “Are you meeting her tonight?” 

 

Bull’s hand slows. 

 

“It’s okay if you are,” Alia whispers. 

 

“Kadan,” Bull starts. 

 

“I said it was okay,” Alia says, he leans up and away from Bull’s grip. He doesn’t look at Bull. 

 

“I don’t have to.” 

 

“You want to,” Alia says, almost daring Bull to disagree. Bull knows he can’t, a lie could shatter everything. 

 

Alia stands from the bed, for a moment in stands naked in the summer light, shining in from the window. Haloed by the warm glow, his brown skin glistening with sweat, the gold jewelry that decorates his body a maddening glimmer. Bull has to close his eyes again, the sight overwhelming. A whisper of temptation that still scares him. To hold onto Alia with bruising, gripping hands, to turn Alia’s heart back to steel instead of the shattering crystal his love has turned it. 

 

Alia steps out of the sun. He grabs his leather pants from the floor, sliding into them with practiced ease. His loose, low neckline black tunic still displays his chest when he slips it on. He sits down on the bed again to pull on his shoes. Bull leans up and shifts over to Alia. 

 

Slowly, to give Alia the chance to lean away, Bull presses a kiss to the back of his neck, directly on the tattooed rose that rests there. 

 

Goosebumps decorate Alia’s skin. His shoulder racked by suppressed shivers. 

 

“I have a meeting with Mica and Petyr,” Alia whispers, lies, and stands, walking to the door. 

 

Alia grips the door handle, feeling Bull’s heavy stare follow him. 

 

“Say hello to Az for me,” Alia whispers, and slips from the room. 

 

. . .

 

The sun is starting to set. Blood red light runs over soft clouds, staining the dying sun that shines over Skyhold. 

 

Alia stalks across the courtyard, cheers and songs warming his back as he exits the tavern, pulling on his gauntlets as he walks. 

 

He makes no move to meet the eyes of those who call out greetings to him. He sweeps past Varric with barely a nod, ignoring Solas completely, although the elf does the same. Alia doesn’t stop walking until he arrives at Dorian’s alcove, the mage reclining in his armchair, a heavy tome spread open across his lap. 

 

With a flourish and a flutter of black silk, Alia plants himself in front of Dorian. 

 

“Hello Alia,” Dorian says, his eyes not even having to flick up. 

 

“You knew it was me?” Alia smiles. 

 

“My  _ dearest _ Alia, your heels are not sensible enough to belong to the Ambassador.” Dorian smirks, flipping the book shut. “Now, what can I do for you?” 

 

“Couldn’t I have just been around, and be overcome with a desire for a friendly visit?” Alia says. “I’ve barely seen you at all these past few weeks, you recluse.” 

 

“Ah, yes I suppose I have been.” Dorian muses. “Well you know how it is. Busy doing research for the Inquisitor and all that.” 

 

“The Inquisitor?” Alia smirks. 

 

“The Inquisition.” Dorian hastily corrects, standing and placing the tome away. “Oh stop smirking, you know what I mean.” 

 

“You can tell me everything you mean over a drink,” Alia smiles. “Come on, it’s been ages, we must catch up.” 

 

“Oh, yes, about that.” Dorian says, his hands coming to clasp together in front of him, twisting his rings around. “Maybe not tonight.” 

 

“What?” Alia laughs. “Why not? It’s not exactly like there’s an overabundance of events here in the bustling social hub of  _ Skyhold _ .” 

 

“Well,” Dorian pauses, taken aback Alia’s vehemence. “I made plans with Petyr.” 

 

“Haven’t you been with him almost every night these past few weeks?” Alia asks, crossing his arms. “The Dorian I knew would’ve been tired by now.” 

 

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be that Dorian anymore.” Dorian says. “And I, quite rather like Petyr.” 

 

Alia feels cold make it’s way from his fingertips to his heart. “I didn’t realize.”

 

“Well,” Dorian blushes, beginning to play with his tunic’s collar. “It’s not exactly like I’m screaming about my feelings from the towers of Skyhold every night am I?” 

 

“You’ve never been one for that no.” Alia says, all past cheer and flamboyance drifts out of his voice. 

 

“And I would suppose you’d be rather busy with Bull during the nighttime,” Dorian tries to chuckle, the sudden, foreign tension between the two smothering them.  

 

“I suppose.” Alia says, voice small, nearly a whisper. “I’ll leave you to your plans.” 

 

And before Dorian can say anything else, Alia turns on a heel and quickly walks back the way he came, leaving Dorian with a sinking feeling in his chest. 

 

. . .

 

Beneath Skyhold, a large hall stretches, abandoned save for cobwebs in the high corners of the ceiling and torches along the walls still flickering with the warm glow of fire. After the main renovations to the hold were complete, attention was drawn here and away from the more obvious repairs. 

 

Josephine had wanted to make it a private dining hall, but it was Cullen’s suggestion of a private training room that gained traction with Petyr. 

 

So Alia, in the dead of night, Skyhold silent and asleep, slips down to it. Golden kukri strapped to his waist, he makes barely a sound as he walks down shadowed stairs. The hall is still lined with torches, casting their warm light on the various racks of weapons and training equipment pushed to the side, leaving a large practice space open. 

 

Alia stands in the center, unstraps his kukri and begins to twirl them round between his fingers. He lets his eyes fall shut, only the warm heat of the fire registering as he breathes deeply, emptying his mind. 

 

“I’ve never seen you with daggers before,” Comes the rumbling and rolling voice of Petyr. Alia stiffens at his voice, his eyes opening quickly. 

 

“I’ve also never seen you down here before.” Petyr finishes, coming to a halt a few steps behind him. 

 

“One who doesn’t practice is one that loses,” Alia recites, flexing the kukri once more. 

 

“Orlesian saying?” Petyr asks. 

 

“My father’s actually.” Alia says. 

 

“Smart man.” 

 

“Yes,” Alia whispers. “he was.” 

 

Alia turns his neck to glance at Petyr. He is dressed in a light, sleeveless white tunic, soft pants and leather boots strapped around his ankles. 

 

“And why are you here?” Alia asks. “I thought I heard something of a romantic night waiting for you.” 

 

Petyr laughs, a dry burst of a chuckle. With a shake of his head he makes his way over to the weapon rack, taking an elegant glaive for himself. With a well practiced arm he spins it round, stopping it so it lays flush against his body, the wicked curved blade pointing towards the floor. 

 

Alia raises an elegantly arched eyebrow at the display.

 

“Dorian was worried about you,” Petyr says, voice infinitely calmer than any nineteen year old’s has any right to be. “I thought I would check to see how you were.” 

 

“Why.” Alia demands as Petyr makes his way around to stand in front of Alia. 

 

“Alia, I know we had our differences, hell we still do,” Petyr says, voice insufferably comforting. “But I count you among my friends - and I’ve been told I’m something of a worrier.” 

 

“I’m fine.” Alia says, not allowing Petyr’s words to worm into and warm his heart. 

 

“Alia,” Petyr raises his eyebrow this time. “Even you are not that good of a liar.” 

 

Alia scowls, the grip on his kukri tightening his knuckles white. 

 

“So come on,” Petyr says, readying his stance and bouncing on his heels. “Let’s spar.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Alia asks. 

 

“Spar.” Petyr grins. “What was it? Practice makes a winner?” 

 

“Not even close,” Alia rolls his eyes. “Alright, if this will satisfy you enough to leave me in peace - let’s spar.”

 

The two lock gazes, silence stretching between them. In a flash of silver Petyr’s glaive sweeps outward towards Alia’s feet. Elegant and fluid in every movement, Alia lunges to Petyr’s side, dodging the blow. 

 

Alia kicks out sharply, nearly catching Petyr. The two dance around one another, silver and gold a blur in the air between them. 

 

“Where’d the knives come from?” Petyr asks, sweeping out with the glaive again. 

 

“Really?” Alia huffs, ducking down to dodge the blow. “You’re asking me this right now? Josephine is right, your conversational skills are abysmal.”

 

“Oh come on,” Petyr smiles. “I’m curious.”

 

“They were a present,” Alia says. “From Dorian. They’re traditional Tevinter daggers.” 

 

“I thought you specialized in bows?” 

 

Alia lets out a sharp laugh, twisting around to Petyr’s back and recites, “When you specialize in everything, you win everything.” 

 

“Your father again?” Petyr asks. 

 

“My mother.” Alia grins, sharp as the kukri he wields. “Less poetic, but a lot smarter.”

 

Silence falls over the two of them once again, dancing in the flickering light, their shadows painting the stone walls. 

 

“I’ve been talking to Az recently.” Petyr says. 

 

Alia stutters for a moment, cold seizing his muscles, allowing Petyr to get a hit in. 

 

With a snarl, Alia kicks out sharply catching Petyr in the stomach. 

 

“I’d assume you would,” Alia snaps. “I see you two giggling around Skyhold often enough.” 

 

“She’s been talking about Bull a lot recently.” Petyr says, ignoring Alia. “He’s been a bit obsessed with her, hasn’t he?” 

 

“Oh well,  _ do _ forgive him,” Alia sneers as he whips his sweat soaked bangs out of his eyes. “She’s the first Tal Vashoth he’s met that he  _ hasn’t  _ wanted to kill - it’s quite the experience for him.” 

 

Petyr’s eyes narrow. “Alia, if this is going to be a problem - if someone is going to get hurt - I need to know what’s going on.” 

 

Alia laughs. “Oh don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen - The Iron Bull’s just got a crush.” 

 

“A crush?” Petyr’s eyebrows furrow, as he leans out of the sweep of Alia’s kukri. “But I thought that - well I thought -” 

 

“Yes?” Alia spits. “And what exactly, in you  _ vast  _ experience in the field of relationships did you think?” 

 

“I thought you two were together.” Petyr says, hesitant, soft, pausing their sparring.  

 

In a sudden rush, all of the anger, all of the bitterness, heat and gut wrenching sadness leaves Alia. 

 

“Yes well,” Alia says, hollow. “I rather thought so too.” 

 

“So what happened?” 

 

“Az is just,” Alia muses. “What he wanted all along I suppose. Every since she and her company have set foot here in Skyhold he’s thought of nothing else.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” Petyr says, low and rumbling, not quite meeting Alia’s gaze. 

 

“Why are you sorry?” Alia asks. 

 

“I invited her,” Petyr says. “If I hadn’t - ” 

 

“No Petyr,” Alia interrupts, grabbing Petyr’s hand, careful of his gauntlets. “Az is not to blame here. None of this rests on her shoulders. She belongs here, she is a good healer and a better friend to you, I would not see you denied that.”

 

Alia trails off, the green of Petyr’s eyes reflecting the dying light of the torches. 

 

“Maybe it’s me that doesn’t fit.” Alia whispers, confessing in the fragile silence. 

 

“What?” Petyr says, panic dancing in the corners of his eyes. “What are you talking about? You have been invaluable to the Inquisition.” 

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Alia says. “I feel trapped here, I’m not meant for the safety of smothering stone walls. I work best while I am actually in the world, not out in the middle of nowhere trying to reach and understand from an ivory tower.” 

 

“Alia,” Petyr breathes his name. “We need you here, Dorian needs you here, I - I need you here.” 

 

“No you don’t.” Alia smiles, poison dripping from the corners. “I will continue to work for the Inquisition I just, cannot do it here any longer.” 

 

“Is this because of Bull?” Petyr whispers. 

 

Alia laughs harsh and rough, cutting his throat on the way up. He begins to walk towards the stairs, strapping his kukri back to his waist. 

 

“Alia,” Petyr calls after him. “Promise me that you will wait until you make your final decision.” Alia sighs and pauses, minutely, he turns to look at Petyr. 

 

“Leliana returns in three months,” Alia says. “I will make my decision by then.”

 

. . . 

 

It’s still dark when Alia makes his way to his room. The cold stars reflecting in the pit of his stomach. A weight is hooked into every bone, threatening to anchor him down. In his mind, he convinces himself he can hear the stones of Skyhold groaning at him. Grinding and crumbling underneath the oppressive weight of the sky. 

 

A chill runs through his spine. His eyes flicker up. 

 

Alia didn’t mean to see.

 

But not even the shadowed corners of Skyhold can hide the shape of Bull and Az, silver as the stars above. They stand close to one another, neither meeting the others eyes, but talking furiously in their shared language. 

 

Alia feels the love in his heart rust into poison, jealously roaring and ripping its way through him. 

 

Gently, more gently than Alia has ever felt from him, Bull reaches for Az’s hand. 

 

Alia turns too quickly to see Az pull away. 

 

. . .

 

As the sun rises over the mountains, the gently cool shine illuminates the rich green of the garden. No one has risen yet to clutter the space with chatter, the silence of the space is as fragile as crystal. 

 

Alia chose the room above the garden for this reason. The window of his room overlooking the garden in thrown open, the gentle breeze that sneaks in dances with the bright silks that hang and decorate every inch Alia’s room. 

 

In the emptiness of his room, Alia wraps himself in methodically in armor. 

 

A simple silk robe hugs his body as he lines his eyes with kohl, the glimmering green all the brighter. Next, he reaches for a glimmering gold power, dusting it over his cheekbones, eyelids and a quick swipe over his lips. With a practiced hand he twists and fluffs his hair until it lays in a gentle wave. A satisfied smile appears on his face as he looks at himself in the mirror.  

 

With a flourish, Alia stands. From his wardrobe he pulls out a tight black leather undersuit and his tall boots. Over that he places a ornamental gold chest piece, moulded and shaped and shining it reflects the light onto his skin. A long black train spills across the floor, crafted from silk.  Finally, he pulls on his clawed gauntlets, his crest proudly displayed. 

 

With one last glance in the mirror, he turns and exits his room, overlooking the awakening garden. 

 

Which, in the very center, stands Az. Tall, and statuesque in dawn light her grey skin shines like steel. Her eyes meets Alia’s and she lights up with a gentle smile. Alia shakes himself and walks down his stairs. 

 

“Good morning Alia,” She calls, her gentle Orlesian accent drifting over the grounds. 

 

“Hello Az,” He replies as he stalks to walk past her. 

 

“You look,” Az smiles. “Well, you look amazing.” 

 

“Oh,” Alia’s steps stutter, he comes to rest in front of her. “Thank you.” 

 

“You sound surprised,” She laughs. 

 

“I’m rather more used to the combined forces of both Petyr and Dorian’s mockery,” Alia huffs, flicking an invisible piece of dust off his pant leg. “But one must soldier on.”

 

“I wish I had things like these,” Az muses. “Not really a practical addition to a Vashoth’s wardrobe.” 

 

Her hands twitch at her sides as if she wishes nothing more than to trail fingertips over the surface, a small, wistful smile on her face. 

 

“I have a meeting with Petyr,” Alia lies, shaking Az out of her daydreams. 

 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Az says. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Well it’s about Bull,” Az’s eyes dart around, never meeting Alia’s. “He’s been rather...odd?” 

 

“Odd?” Alia raises an eyebrow. His mind races with the memory of the two of them in the dark of night, skin a whisper away from touch, tension thick in the inches between the two.

 

“Bull...I don’t know how to explain it.” Alia’s chest tightens in preparation for a strike. “He’s being very...overbearing?” She keeps pausing, struggling to get the right words to form in the Common tongue. Alia can see her shrinking, bringing her shoulders in close and hunching down. “He keeps insisting on having these meetings about being Tal Vashoth and every single time he keeps getting into my personal space and I don’t know if it’s something he does with everyone? Shokrakar says that’s how some Qunari are but I wasn’t sure if he was one of them.” That was...not what he was expecting. At all.

 

She continues on, still not looking up from the dew damp blades of grass between the toes of her leather boots. “I figured you would be the person to go to about it, I didn’t want to bother Petyr with it or Kaaris or Maker forbid  _ Meraad  _ because they’d just freak out and it’d explode and-” she keeps rambling, shifting her weight and Alia is struck by how  _ young  _ she is. What a pretty, young, innocent thing.

 

No wonder Bull loves her.

 

And like that, his fury rushes back. Her silver skin that once sparkled like a gem in the sunlight is blinding, her earnesty choking. This is the heart that took his away from him. 

 

“Well it’s rather simple darling,” Alia interrupts her. “The Bull is a man who’s driven by the more _ basic  _ instincts - and you are the next pretty thing that’s caught his eye.” 

 

Az freezes, her eyes shutting off. “I don’t -” 

 

“Understand?” Alia laughs. “Don’t worry yourself it’s honestly rather simple - Bull’s yours now! Have fun with him while you can.”

 

“He is your Kadan,” Az stresses. “Do you even know what that means?” 

 

“It means that he wanted someone in his bed and he knew pretty words like that were the way to achieve that. It’s a simple and weak seduction tactic - I am Orlesian I know all about them.” Alia snaps. “Now, if you are done bothering me - I have places I need to be.” 

 

As he turns on his heel and starts striding away, her voice rings behind him. “That word is forged through dragon bone - it’s not the word that is weak.”

 

Alia doesn’t stop walking as Az’s words dig their way through his heart.

 

. . .

 

Alia exits the main hall slowly. A cold breezes reaches down from the mountains, reaching down to wrap around Alia. His pale silver robe dances in the wind. 

 

The breeze hooks claws in Alia’s lungs, numbness trails down his spine. 

 

Standing at the base of the stairs is Bull. Alia’s hand automatically goes to his throat. The heavy, solid weight of his dragon tooth necklace absent when he reaches for it. Holding his gaze, Bull meets him at the top of the stairs. For the first time, Alia curses their height difference as he looks up at Bull. 

 

“Hello Bull.” Alia says. His words cold and sharp, each he aims towards the center of Bull’s chest. “What can I do for you.”

 

“Thought you could tell me the same thing,” Bull says. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.” 

 

“Yes well,” Alia smiles, the corners of his eyes tight. “Rather busy - running the largest spy network in Thedas and all that.” 

 

“Never was a struggle for you before,” Bull muses. “Getting too much for you to handle?” 

 

“No that was you who couldn’t handle spy work any more,” Alia’s words are coated with poison as he spits them out. 

 

Bull is silent. He shows no sign that Alia met his target. A sigh escapes Alia. 

 

“I’m sorry that was, uncalled for.” Alia mutters. 

 

“Do you want to tell me what this is really about now?” 

 

Alia stares up at him, he doesn’t feel that familiar pull of warmth that once tethered him to this place. 

 

“I’m leaving.” Alia says, as much to himself as Bull. 

 

“What?” Genuine surprise colors Bull’s words before he can smother it. 

 

“I’ve done all I can here,” Alia says. “I can do better work for Inquisition away from these walls.” 

 

Bull is silent for a moment, the only noise between them the whistling of wind. 

 

“I thought it might be because of Az.” Bull says. 

 

“Oh please,” Alia dismisses, his eyes burning. “We had a...dalliance, one could barely expect me to make it through these past months with out some entertainment.” 

 

“And the necklace?” Bull says, anger creeping into his eye. “Everything we said, and promised - was that entertainment to you?” 

 

“Well I don’t know Bull,” Alia says. “Why don’t you go ask Az?” 

 

“So it is about her,” Bull smirks. Alia curses to himself, his hands clench tight. 

 

“And why shouldn’t it be?” Alia finally snarls. “This child - who you once tried to  _ kill  _ \- walks back into your life and in doing so attempts to shatter mine. My anger is  _ justified _ .” 

 

“You said it was fine that I was talking to her,” Bull shoots back. 

 

“That was before I knew you were in love with her.” Alia snaps, pushing past Bull and walking down the steps. 

 

“Hey!” Bull calls. "I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

He stands below Bull and tries not to feel any love, any hope at those words. The distance between them tearing away at them until they both bleed. It is here he realizes that he has armed Bull with a dagger fixed on his heart and whispered, “I trust you.” 

 

Alia is a fool.

 

“I won’t.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Alia Aenorean Angevine: Son of an Elven Orlesian mother and an Human Antivan father Alia quickly understood that he was an outsider. Fighting for freedom of the elves of the alienages, like his mother before him, Alia quickly gained a name for himself. After the death of his father he spread his efforts across Thedas. With the largest spy network Thedas has ever seen, Alia was brought to the Inquisition through a shared history with the Inquisition's favorite Tevinter Mage, Dorian Pavus.
> 
> Petyr Winter-Touch Trevelyan: Exiled member of the noble House Trevelyan, Petyr found himself both an outcast of his family and the circle. After escaping from the circle Petyr was adopted by a local Avvar tribe, quickly finding his place as an apprentice to the Augur and earning his legend mark. Thrown into the whirlwind of the Inquisition, Petyr took to his appointment as Inquisitor with as much trepidation and grace as one would expect. Pulled between the Avvar he is and the Noble everyone expects and demands of him Petyr's time with the Inquisition is nothing if not complicated. 
> 
> Azaezel “Kost” Adaar: Azaezel is the healer of the Valo-Kas mercenary company. She was born under the Qun in Seheron but it was only a matter of days before her parents met in secret, grabbed their other child, and ran away, knowing their child would be a mage. Her mother was a Tamassran, her father Ben Hassrath, and they grew up in the Tal Vashoth slums in northern Orlais. Up until she was seven they lived peacefully, if in poverty, and the Slums were always filled with the smell of spices and the sound of music from old war drums. But when there was a raid by Qunari forces, both of her parents were slaughtered and Az was stabbed in the stomach before Meraad distracted the attackers, giving them enough time to slip out and start running. Meraad joined up with the Valo-Kas merc company under the condition that his sister would be taken care of, and they were quickly taken in as family. Az worked on her healing skills and quickly became the company healer. An old friendship with Petyr brought her to the Inquisition and lead her to be reunited with the Ben Hassrath that once nearly killed her, The Iron Bull.
> 
>  
> 
> Alia's fashion is horribly self indulgent and I love it.


End file.
